


More Than This

by Dannycangetitright



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cop Jessica, F/M, M/M, Marine Buddies, Marine Frank, Mental Health Issues, More Tags Coming Soon, Paralegal Matt, Pining, soldier enhancement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dannycangetitright/pseuds/Dannycangetitright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t have even been coherent in his state, not decipherable when he’s almost passed out. But he hears it all the same. All the more he guesses with how silent it is, away from the distraction of the never ending hum of the city. </p><p>“I hope you find more than this, Matt.”</p><p>9/16/2016. This work will undergo editing and changes for now. Sorry for the inconvenience! But I promise that the wait will be well worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than This

**Author's Note:**

> Matt's a Parelegal  
> Frank's an on and off deployed marine in trouble  
> hopefully they'll meet soon enough.

 

The words felt raw to Matt’s ears.

He didn’t like hearing them. But they were true nonetheless. He was always a failure, always someone who didn’t put his all into things like that. He wasn’t like the others, he wasn’t adamant to show themselves out to the world, to be more than what was given. He didn’t strive for more. He didn’t want to be more. While everyone was more successful, more outgoing and sociable, Matt was just everything less.

_Goddamn hermit. Fine. Just get those reports done and leave like you always do._

Matt was just Matt. He didn’t do much, but he did enough that his spot on the world would be enough.

He wasn’t frightened by the world, he wasn’t a coward in that sense. No. He was strong enough to live, strong enough to partake in still being whole.

He was just stuck. Stuck in place, stuck in a rut, stuck in something inexplicably terrible.

But he kept moving forward because that’s all he had going for him.

It was all he could do because not doing so would make him even more of a failure than he already was.

And he hated and feared failure, abhorred it like the plague, but it was also all the same as a plague. Once it got you, once it had you, it stayed with you forever. And he was contaminated far too long ago for it to even matter at this point. It’s why he’s here. Why he’s at some hellhole of a firm. Why he’s a no one who does work for terrible people at a big corporate law firm.

Matt continued to tap endlessly on the keyboard, writing out reports and affidavits for today. He was very good at that. One of the few things he was capable of doing. He still knew how to type blind, knew with such vast clarity and memory he even surprised himself that he finished before the days end. Matt was a quick thinker, less quick on his feet, but quicker with his hands. 

And paralegal work was easy to do. It wasn’t intense or overtaking like being a lawyer was. It was safe. He was more of a glorified assistant than a paralegal. Matt supposed even then that was what a paralegal was in the first place.

Well in his case he assisted a very shifty lawyer like Mr. Fisk that made Matt sick to his stomach.

Matt has always disliked the firm he works for, but there wasn’t much he could do to argue. He couldn’t really. It was decent money. It still paid for his housing and food. Life wasn’t too bad off, but is wasn’t quite the perfect peace he’d hoped it would be when he graduated.

But he goes through the motions still. He’s tentative to not be too outspoken, just doing what he can, and keeping to himself and letting others speak for him during conferences and court work because they automatically assume he’s incapable along with being blind.

It’s fine for Matt.

He’s never been a complainer. That’s not necessarily true. It’s just been easier to bite his tongue and say nothing.

He’s a piece of work, really. That’s what most of the associates say derisively to him.

_It’s been 3 years so far and he’s never thought to pass the bar exam._

_What a waste if he’s going to do nothing here but fill out reports and papers._

_He’s probably failed his LSAT’s too many times to care about moving up._

He really is a piece of work.

A broken, jagged piece of work that sits in the secluded room of an exhibit; hidden away and kept from the world like a dirty secret. He’s not much to look at anyways if anyone was interested.

After a while the comments faded away. Or he just got better at ignoring them. It’s one or the either. It doesn’t matter.

Once he’s finally brailled out the next case work for tomorrow morning, he pulls up his messenger bag and carefully incases his laptop inside. He’s more than done for today. He’s finished what he was told to do, and then some, and now he leaves with a sort of contentment one can only get from being freed out of a prison. It’s sort of like breathing in fresh air again after breathing only smog for hours. He leaves the his office room and pads out his white canes.

No one says goodbyes or ‘see you later’ to Matt. He’s fine with that. They’ve stopped saying that after his first year into the firm. It’s a boring ritual they’ve all grown tired of keeping up. No one actually cares to say goodbye to him now.

Matt keeps his cane steady, letting the pit patting of it lead him out of the crowded offices, and ignore the comments he could hear, and move towards the elevator banks in the far corner of the left wing, away from the people in their office partitions.

It’s muscle memory that gets him here. It’s easy to know where the doors are, to listen to the moment his cane hits the hard clank of the particular metal the elevator doors are made of. It’s a hard, nearly melodic thud. He leans forward to the right from the door to grope around for the down button. Once he does he awaits for the ding sound and whir of wind to that tells him the door is open.

“Oh! Could you hold up the door for me, please?” A man says a few meters away from where Matt is.

Matt instinctively pulls out an arm for the doors.

“Thanks,” the man says with a quick rush as he settles into the elevator shaft. He must have ran to get inside.

“No problem,” Matt says just as quickly.

“I’m Danny, this is my first day at the firm. Well I guess it was. I just finished my shift for today.”

“That’s good,” Matt says awkwardly, not trying to feel like the elevator doors and walls feel like they’re closing in on him with this stranger in them.

“So…” Danny says, prompting him for a response, but the wait is too long that he comes up with his own, “Where are you stationed?”

The quirk of his brows has him intrigued now, less unstable and panicky. “Stationed?”

Danny makes an aborted movement with his hands, a flourish of fingers that probably convey: ‘you-know-what-I-mean-I shouldn’t-have-to-explain-it.’ “Well, I mean, like which part of the firm are you from?”

“I’m a Paralegal for the firm.”

His head tilts back in surprise. “Oh, really? I didn’t see you at all on this floor. I thought you were an IT at first glance.”

Matt’s eyebrows go up again. “IT? With my eyes? That’s pretty generous of you.”

“Oh, right, stupid question,” Danny responded sheepishly.

“It’s fine. Everyone doesn’t get it right away.” Matt dealt with it all throughout his life, especially with new people. Generally new people didn’t want to make assumptions with his glasses, but usually they’d jump to the conclusion regardless. It’s just been quite a while since they hired someone new for this to happen that he was a bit surprised.

“But this is strange.”

Curiosity gets to the best of Matt. “Why?”

“Natasha promised me she’d show me around, introduced me to everyone and all that company bonding crap, well, except for Matt, who they say is a recluse that doesn’t like talking to anyone… and that- that must be you.” Danny stops talking, even more sheepish than last time.

Typical of Natasha. Always with the rumours.

The elevator bell dings and Matt’s been unconsciously counting the time he’s spent in the elevator to know when it’s his stop. When they’re no stops it’s usually a good 15 seconds. There’s also the new buzzer sound they added to the elevator to indicate which floor they’re on, but Matt just uses that as a last measure, he doesn’t rely on it fully since he’s been doing the former way for so long.

“That is _me_ ,” Matt says with a curt nod. “It was – ugh, nice to meet you, Danny, welcome to the firm.”

When Matt makes his way out of the glass doorways and into the streets of New York he finally feels like he can leave behind all the negativity. He hails for a cab quickly. The bumpy ride home had him forgetting all about work, forced him to work the kink in his neck and figure out what he was going to cook for today. It was easy to forget once you were away. 

His phone rang at the right moment when he was about to leave his cab. He cursed silently as he passed a couple of bills to the cabby and quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket on its last ring.

“Foggy?” The ringtone is quite familiar with him, its Madonna’s La Isla Bonita, which Matt for the life of him hasn’t tried to change at all since Columbia. Matt doesn’t even need to know the ringtone anyways, Foggy’s the only one who ever really calls him.

“Hey, Matty. Just came to talk to you for a bit.”

“A ‘bit’ for you could mean anything, Foggy. You’re never one to say you’re going to ‘talk’, you just do.”

“She said yes.”

“What?” Matt says befuddled, nearly tripping on the steps to his apartment. “Wait…you don’t mean Karen-”

“-Karen Page said yes to my marriage proposal! I’m fucking engaged, buddy, and you’re going to be the fucking best man!”

Matt feels a bit elated at the news. Foggy sounds like he’s been happily getting buzzed or trying to at the least, he always gets into a mood to be ready to get drunk.

“That’s incredible, Foggy, I’m so happy for you.”

“You’re going to be even happier when you open the door then.”

Matt stops to pick his key fob from his pocket. “What do you mean,” Matt says as he enters his complex building, making quick work to jump upstairs towards his floor. He nearly asks again when Foggy gets suspiciously quiet on the other end, his hands finding his keys again to open the door.

“Surprise!” Foggy says a bit more jovially than necessary. Matt hears the swish of liquid and the scent of alcohol. Foggy was getting buzzed. In his apartment. It feels like college all over again for Matt.

“Surprised I am, Mr. Page. But why aren’t you being chummy with Mrs. Page?”

“Shhh, I’m still a groom-to-be, Matt, so, so shuttup. And Karen has to tell her parents in Toronto, personally of course, so she’s out of town for the rest of the day. Man she’s so stoked now that I told her, you should’ve seen her face – never mind - hah! You probably can’t even if I showed you the video of it.”

“I’d still like to hear it,” Matt says with the curve of his lips, amused and content with his best friends happy mood.

“Oh, man, she made this cute little gasp that I’ll never get out of my head, Matt, like seriously, just too cute. And it was amazing, perfect even, and now that my 3 month plan has finally been achieved I can get properly shit faced with my best man.”

Matt smiles with the shake of his head, taking the bottle from Foggy’s swaying hands, not to drink, more to stop him from splashing it all over his sofa. “Is this supposed to be some early bachelor party now?”

“Yes.”

And with that Matt takes a swig of the beer.

“Hey, hey, not here, we can start drinking when we get to the Park.”

“So you get a head start instead?”

“You’re a painfully obvious light weight, Matt, one more sip of that beer and you’d be trying to parkour New York’s skate parks all over again. Besides I hardly call half a beer a head start.”

Matt blushes slightly. “That was one time, okay, and we were drinking vodka and tequila that night so excuse me for thinking that was a cool idea.”

“Whatever, c’mon, times a wasting.”

The Park would turn out to be not really a Park. It was more of a woodsy part of New York, only reasonably accessible if you had a car. Foggy thankfully had his car waiting outside for us to get to the place. Matt and Foggy had found it one night during one of their many terrible life decisions that weren’t really that bad if it made them find a place like this. It was a small clearing, almost like a deserted camp grounds, and all around the small semi-circle was covered around in thick trees and stony hills at the back. It was really a perfect spot to be away from New York’s bumbling non-stop busy life because it wasn’t anything like New York. It was like a small respite in a roaring city that both me and Foggy were thankfully privy to.

“Man, how long has it been since we’ve been here?”

“I dunno, a year or so?” Matt says a he pulls out a package of beer from the trunk.

“A year? Damn, what happened to that ritual to always come here every month?”

“Well a few years ago it was every week we’d make time to come here, then every other week, then every fortnight, then it turned into this. We just got, busy, Foggy.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says a little wistfully. “How’s corporate law working for you now?”

“How’s criminal?” Matt retorts back.

Foggy shifts his feet a bit as he goes to lock the car. He goes to the back of the trunk along with Matt to take out a folding chair. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Half the time I thought I was gonna hate it, but it’s actually really interesting, you know, moral dilemmas and fighting the good fight for people… I really wish you had taken the jump with me for criminal law, Matt.”

Matt slumps carefully on the chair, pulling out a beer from the package and squeezing open the cap with ease. “You know why I didn’t take it.”

“It’s a stupid reason, is what it is. He wouldn’t-”

“Well it’s my decision regardless.” Matt’s tone is edging on chiding, which isn’t ever good to push.

Foggy sighs, “I know, I know, that’s why I _wished_ it was different. But it’s fine, you’re fine, were all fine, and we’re going to have a traditional beer-night at the Park just like we did in the good ol’ Coloumbian days.”

Matt nods silently, his mouth drinking in the somewhat lukewarm liquid, remembering those golden memories to heart. “I here to that,” Matt say’s, more to fill the growing silence he knows will come.

But silence isn’t unnatural in the Park. It’s where they want to be quiet. It’s just more than the silence now, more than just amiable quietness, because Matt notices a bit of tension in the air, of the way Foggy seems to slow down his drinking to look at Matt with what he knows is worry from the way his chin is set; like it’s held up and not relaxed. It’s a distinct feature Matt’s always been good at reading about him.

“I’m doing good, Foggy, really, stop with the mother henning, please.”

“Are you really? From what I hear from Natasha and Luke it’s all just - _not good_.”

Matt balks at their names. Typically they’d be all sharing the same strange concern through the grapevine. “Natasha and Luke don’t know when to stop pressing boundaries. It’s none of their concern how I live my life. I told you I’m good, I’m fine, I’m happy.”

“Matt, you’re not _fine_ , you’re functioning, but you’re not fine.”

Matt’s grip on the bottle is tough, harder and unnecessarily tight that it turns his knuckles white.

Then all as quickly, it leaves him, just as fast as it came. Anger was never something he held close to his heart. It was always sadness, a bone deep tiredness that’s permanently settled under his skin. Matt doesn’t really know when it happened, but it did, something like this takes years to make he realized too late.

Matt turns to look at Foggy.

“Just let me deal with it, Foggy. I know you’re not happy about that, but I’m never going to be happy if I have all of you worried and terrified for me. I don’t want that again. Never.”

“You can ask for help, Matt, no one’s going to be upset that they need to help you.”

I shake my head resolutely. “But I’m not going to rely on all of you. I’m not going to burn out, I’m not like that anymore, I’m better, for real this time, not fully, but enough has changed for me to know it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Foggy says, his tone much lighter than it had been a few seconds ago. “I really hope you’re right.”

Matt nods, mute and unable to speak without his voice breaking. They go back to drinking, taking in the silence and finding comfort in it again.

 In a few hours from now, when Matt’s finally able to find his voice, they make small talk, just little things that don’t have to do anything with the past, just the present, all good and nice.

Foggy talks about his plans for the wedding. Karen’s been eyeing an expensive venue that you need to sign up prior to renting it. It’s pretty posh since it’s on the upper east side of New York.

“Man, we might need to wait a year or so until this all gets settled down. But I think it’d be worth it, the perfect everything for the perfect day.”

“Never pictured you as the perfectionist type." Matt idly remembered the total dissaray Foggy's apartment was ex ante Karen Page. "Guess love makes you go crazy.”

“Hey, whatever happened to that Claire girl?” Foggy asks. Matt doesn’t like that Foggy jumped from weddings to Claire that quickly. It’s not unusual, but the connection doesn’t bode well.

“It didn’t work out. We weren’t like you guys if that’s what you were implying. We just liked our company for a while.”

“I’m not implying anything, Matt-”

“-Let’s not focus on her. I thought this day was about you, well, both of you really. You both got your whole lives to plan now. I won’t miss that for the world, Foggy,” Matt says, tactfully deflecting, which is all he’s good at.

“You better not,” Foggy says, tone teasing and playful now. “I don’t need my best man to get cold feet on me.”

“And why would I get cold feet, Foggy?”

Foggy makes a groaning sound, and Matt’s eyebrows raise in half-hearted concern at the sound. “Because you’ve always wanted to marry me, Matt,” get out through his fake pained groans. “I know how sadly true that is – but just as sadly, my heart belongs to another!” Foggy says mockingly as he makes another sound like he’s having a stroke, where his hands have probably rested on his chest, clutching it with even more mock jest. “I don’t know how you’ll live on knowing you’re one true love is with someone else, but stay strong, and be there for me as my best friend – Oh god!”

Matt laughs openly, pushing hard against Foggy’s shoulder, making him unexpectedly fall. “Oh, god, sorry,” Matt says, but he’s laughing all the same, even louder now as Foggy scrambles to get up.

“You did that on purpose, Murdock,” no longer joking now.  

“Guilty as charged,” Matt says with smirk as he helps to pull his friend up.

“God I am not as fit as I used to be, Matt, that fall _winded_ me.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “We’re not that _old_.”

“Right, no, no, we’re still young and full of spruce. That’s are new motto now.”

“Spruce?” Matt says with the tiniest tilt of his head.

“Yes, spruce, yah know, spruce!” Foggy insistently responds.

“You full enough of spruce to rest on the front seats this time?” Matt says a bit tired. It’s been almost a good four hours since they’ve been outside for the evening. It’s almost 10.

“What? Why don’t you want the front? I’ve got back problems, Matt, I can’t exactly find restfulness while on that goddamn gear-shift.”

“So rest in the front with the seat pulled back instead. You don’t have to sleep horizontal on a car, Foggy.”

“Oh, whatever, fine, but you are so paying for my chiropractor bill.”

Matt smiles smugly. “Put it under all the times I’ve paid for you meals and dinner plans, Foggy. I’m sure it’ll cover it.”

“I concede to the all-knowing jerk that is Matt Murdock. I hope Sparky’s fur gets all over your suit, Matt,” he says, just to be spiteful.

Matt makes an aborted motion to go to the front door now, rushing toward it, but Foggy locks the door with his fob key. “Actually, you know what, your back _has_ been acting up,” Matt tries and fails to reason.

Matt senses Foggy’s hair shake back and f orth. “Save it, Matt, you’re stuck in the back now that I realized that little problematic fact. You’re not even allowed on the front anymore. It’s my zone now.” 

Childishly, Matt throws a balled up piece of paper from his pocket to Foggy’s head. Aim impeccable as always that Matt just waits for the sound of a yelp to come. It’s a small victory for him.

“One day you are going to tell me how you do that.”

“I’ve got to keep some secrets. Now open the goddamn door,” Matt chuckles as he moves a door down the car, where there are apparently fur covered back seats awaiting him. Matt already feels the tiredness ebb and flow with the buzzing of the alcohol. It makes him feel lax, calmer and less bone tired than how he usually is. Days like this with nights like this always makes him feel better than ever. It’s a small reprieve towards the constant belittlement that’s his normal life.

Foggy doesn’t respond, just clicks the fob key, the sound of this is his cue to open the door and collapse in the soft seated chairs. The smell of dog and feel of the bristling fur is a small annoyance to his overall comfort.

Matt hears the passenger door open from his general direction, and hears Foggy’s tired sigh as he reclines on the seat. Matt’s heads rest on the armrest opposite to where Foggy is and he sighs himself.

The reclining of Foggy’s chair is like a clamp on his feet, but Matt finds it more as a comforting press, like it’ll keep him in place from falling off or over. Matt doesn’t try to understand how he’d fall over in the small car, but there could always be a chance.

“G’night, Matt,” Foggy mumbles, nearly half-asleep.

“Goodnight, Foggy,” Matt mumbles right back.

The silence starts again once they settle. No moving around to find comfort or find the right spot, just a stillness that sets in finally.

It is a few hours later, when Matt’s awoken by the opening of the door. Matt assumes Foggy had to take a piss.

Matt feels the tug of sleep again, but there’s something that keeps him just awake long enough for him to hear Foggy enter the car again. It keeps him up just a bit more, barely though.

It shouldn’t have even been coherent in his state, not decipherable when he’s almost passed out. But he hears it all the same. All the more he guesses with how silent it is, away from the distraction of the never ending hum of the city.

“I hope you find more than this, Matt.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
